


Scents & Sensibility

by empires



Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Regency, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Jane Austen, although the writer has a pretty dark secret concerning our dear friend jane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: Something along the lines of the Princess and the Pea. It can be A/B/O, modern, fantasy, or even something that takes place in canon where there's some kind of curse. Have fun with it!Challenge accepted. Fun had, and although the story is a little less Princess and the Pea and more Dickie Blacklocks and the very handsome Jason, I think that's in the spirit of the prompt!
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 23
Kudos: 111
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	Scents & Sensibility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NitroJen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitroJen/gifts).



> Hi Jen! Your pinch hit is coming to you at the last minute and in two parts. I sincerely apologize for this. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it enough to forgive me.
> 
> Special thanks to Stevieraebarnes and Salvadore for your incredible suggestions and beta work. I will be back for beta round ~~20~~ 3 before you know it!

**1\. In which word of great importance arrives at the manor**

Since the days of the Fae Alliance and the dawning of the NightBrood, the Wayne family had long been a fixture in the seaside lands of Gothamshire.

The Wayne estate was large, spreading from white cliffs to gently rolling hills and expanding with each generation’s strong support of the crown. Though the family had lived in both a respectful and charitable manner that granted them the good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance, there were equally as many who coveted the wealth and good fortune of the Wayne name and patiently waited for its downfall.

Alas, this day came far too soon. On a sprightly April morning, when the gentle rains broke and life flourished across the land, despair fell over the proud house. The owner of the estate, one Bruce Wayne, Duke of Wayne Manor, Vice-Admiral of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, Lord of the Upper Chambers, Dear Friend of the Summer Court, and Alpha exceptionnel, had been lost at sea.

On the heels of such a blow came more terrible news. After retiring from the Royal Navy with great standing upon the peace accords prompting the League of Prosperity, Wayne, who was a young, hale and hearty alpha in his prime, did not reconcile his evolving considerations for his children with the traditional requirements of his will. Thus, when it was read to the mourning Wayne brothers, it did as much harm to them as his disappearance ever could.

The circumstances are thus: the two eldest Wayne brothers had presented as Omega exceptionnelle while the youngest remained in his pupas state, unpresented and rumored to show no natural talents. The will made only provision for the marriage of the omegas, and the distribution of dowries the likes of which would send the most confident member of the gentry to his knees in shame. However, without a marriage to secure their status, the monies would be barred from them. Indeed, without marriage or an alpha of rank to claim the household in absentia, the estate would return to the Queen to distribute as he sees fit.

Within the hour, news of this unfortunate event sent many out the door of their fine homes to race across the country side to offer their sincere condolences, conventional wisdom, and of course, the pedigree of their son, daughter, nephew and so forth who would be a perfect match for the unfortunate omega sons of Wayne.

And this is where our story begins.

**2\. Where circumstance is avoided, convention is ignored, and schemes are revealed**

Richard John Grayson-Wayne, Omega exceptionnelle, perches upon the settee chair as befits his presentation, seething, although one would not know it to look at him for his demeanor holds the quiet of mourning and his cornflower blue eyes often set to the distance.

His visitors certainly did not notice. They were more interested in the treasures of the house they hoped to inherit. Once they found the decorations of the home to their liking and imagined displays of their future wealth, it was easier to focus on Richard’s beauty … bar the unfortunate _thing_ upon his face.

It is the single most repeated complaint espoused by the lords and ladies who retired with promise to visit again. How lovely the omega would be if not for that thing on his face.

Rumors live long in Gothamshire, and all too many recall the spritely fellow calling himself “Dick” running across the fields with the common children and schooling with the higher castes far longer than tradition dictates. The use of such a family name rather than an appropriate omega diminutive spoke volume of the indulgence the poor orphan received, so it is understandable that a cherished child might retain some outlandish behaviours of their youth. They can forgive this, and the open windows that brought in the unpleasant chill of autumnal air leaving the room fightfully cold. They also could forgive the constant sweep of Richard’s fan and his distracted answers. The poor thing was fatherless and near destitute afterall. But the mustache. The thin ruffle of brushed hair beneath his nose is like an affront to the natural order established by the Act of Presentation.

For an omega to flaunt such an obvious defect let alone an omega exceptionnelle.... Well, it is no wonder that despite his beauty, Dick has remained unmated for so long.

He is an uncommonly lovely thing. Memories of summers on the shore stained his skin a golden brown and his smile, although so very few and far between shown today, has the sublime effect that lightens one's cares and woes away with a single glance. Without this gleaming distraction, some few of Dick’s deficiencies came to light. Dick strains the boundary between omega and beta. He stands taller than average, slightly broader than average, and slightly more chiseled than average.

Still, the Wayne coffers will make up for these failings.

The door closes on one of the many gentry seeking to secure their future, and at last Dick could breathe again. Pushing the nearest window further open, Dick leaned towards the scent of fresh air to clear his head. After a few moments, the room smelt neutral again, clean enough that his skin did not pimple in disgust.

Alas, his is a brief respite.

The door opens again, and Mr. Fox, the Wayne family solicitor, offers Dick an apologetic head bob.

“Lord Ransom DuBois, Count of Raptor Hall, Alpha.”

Head held high, DuBois strides through the door oozing with alpha arrogance. He takes one long, scrutinous glance at Dick before smiling. It does unpleasant things to his face.

“My, my. You are Richard Grayson, aren’t you? I couldn’t see it at first, but there is more than enough of your mother in you.”

A spark of interest lit Dick’s eye, the first since this morning. “You knew my mother?”

“I did, once upon a time.” DuBois walks in a half circle to take in Dick’s every angle. “Well, you are certainly as lovely as they say. Unheeding of your education. The lip hair will be shaved, your hair lengthened, and your modesty reduced to at least conventional standards. Then you will be the perfect omega to sit at my feet.”

The fan in Dick’s hand opens with a sharp snap and he begins to flutter it quickly outward fanning the rapidly building arrogant scent. “You are a traditionalist then.”

“As are all right minded gentry loyal to the Queen and Crown. Dear Mary was a traditional alpha too, and I feel the friend I knew would mourn the future you might face.” DuBois comes to a halt in front of Dick. “If I had known that Wayne would have let you stray so far.” He clicks his tongue in dismay. “Perhaps I would have stepped forward sooner.”

“My education has been quite thorough, I assure you Lord DuBois.”

“Is it? You lack difference in your tone, arrogance in the way you wave that fan about. And an omega remaining seated when an alpha enters the room? What would your mother say?”

The fan stops. “I spent nearly eleven years in the care of my parents,” he says, quietly. “Not once did they mention you, Lord DuBois. You are a stranger to me, an odious one even, to believe an omega exceptionnelle and son of the Duke should kneel for you.”

DuBois’s face pales and then colors rapidly. Quick as talons scraping through the grass, he snatches Dick’s wrist and squeezes hard. “How dare you!”

Dick’s lashes flutter as he is assaulted a second time by DuBois’s alpha scent. “Calm yourself, man. Your scent is offensive.” Startled, DuBois bares his teeth for a moment, and then sniffs.

“Pah. There’s nothing but cold and chimney soot in the air. Willful and a liar,” DuBois hisses. “I will put you in your place. Too much of that omega shire of yours in you. I told her. I told her that it would be bad blood.”

Dick begins to struggle, enraged by the aspersions cast upon his mother and father. “My father--”

“Your shire was a vainglorious nomad who had no idea the jewel he found in your sweet mother. Giving up her station and prospects for someone so beneath her.” DuBois gnashes his teeth in ages old pain. “And the alpha who has reared you? He is a fool twice over for choosing to let you run wild rather than nurture your natural submission and claim you. But make no mistake, I will not miss my chance this time.”

Dick jerks his hand back, but the strength contained in the alpha’s gloved grip held him immoble. He grits his teeth and tugs again. “Let me go.”

DuBois sneers. “Never. You, your so-called brother, and the wealth of the Wayne name; it will all be mine very soon.”

The sheer nerve of the man to walk into their home and threaten this family. Dick folds his free hand into fist and swings with all his might. The blow lands upon DuBois’ face with great speed and accuracy and slides across the alpha’s shocked expression to collide the nose with a satisfying crunch.

DuBois pulls away with a pained sound. He clutches at his face, cursing the omega, who has crossed the room with great poise and opened the door.

“Mr. Fox, Lord DuBois and I both agree that we are not a good match. Please strike his name from the list.” Dick glances over his shoulder, expression hard. “Forever.”

“You stupid little omega. You will regret this!” DuBois flounders through the door, rage dripping from his scent. “I will make you regret this.”

The Count of Raptor Hall left in a swirl of displeasure and ranting curses.

Days later, the Queen’s representative arrives with an order from the ruling court. All of the Wayne assets are to be assessed before the Crown’s inquest of the grounds. The brothers Wayne are bid to leave the estate.

The officials arrive during morning tea. They are dour men with pale faces and long, creeping fingers, and they are accompanied by Lord DuBois, who waves the letter from the Crown with glee. The brothers and their solicitor are treated to a swift review of the paperwork while the servants are served their papers.

The Wayne assets include the manor, the mountain chateau, the seaside palisade, the town home, and the lands associated with the Wayne name within the Queen’s country. The land and monies from the Drake trust were also included in the accounting, for Lord Wayne did oversee them for the past five years. They did not include the Drake farmhouse in Southfield Drury, some few miles south of Gothamshire, which were left to Tim by his mother. It is decided the brothers would stay there for the duration, though they will arrive without a stipend.

And so Dick, Timothy, and Damian climb aboard the Foxes’s carriage with a small trunk and the rest of their morning tea neatly packed to discover the quite humble quarters they will be forced to reside for the duration of the assessment and inquiry.

Still, looking upon Lord DuBois’s swollen nose, Dick could not bring himself to regret his temper eluding his reason. No, he could not regret a single thing.

**3\. The brothers Wayne go for an outing**

Breakfast is boiled eggs, watery porridge with wilted greens, and less burnt than yesterday ham. Though the depths of Dick’s culinary arts continue to expand in unexpectedly edible ways, it is not apace with the demands of the reduced Wayne household.

Damian takes his portion of porridge and greens out from the room, and Dick cannot bring himself to stop his brother. Watching him choke down the gruel is as painful as watching the round glowing faces of his brothers become thin and knowing he is the cause. Though he tries his best to prepare food for them, the dishes are not within the realm of taste and satisfaction as found in homes of knowledgeable cooks and the meals certainly lack the richness with which they were raised. Their simple fare is made simpler by their dwindling funds.

Tim finishes setting the table, and between the two of them, a decent cup of tea is achieved from the leaves first used two days ago, and they split the fruits of their labor made rich by a touch of milk. Tim opens up the morning paper and begins reading. The considering frown on his gamine face is a remnant of Bruce, and Dick must fast look away before the pain reers in his chest. He must be strong now.

With trepidation, Dick spoons the first mouthful and blows across the watery substance hoping to cool it enough to make it palatable. He swallows. A surprised expression wars with the frequently used wince of regret Dick exhibits upon eating his own meal. "I think it's better today," he says, voice hopeful.

Tim studies him carefully before lifting his own spoon. “Mmm. Mmmm.” He hums thoughtfully before proclaiming, “Edible.”

“Praises be,” Dick mutters before taking another bite of the bland mix of wheat, oat, honey, and too much water. He manages another few mouthfuls before slamming his hand on the table. The meal is adequate, but six bites in, his belly feels curdled with hunger, and in the distance, he hears Damian coughing into his fist.

“This afternoon, we will go to the restaurant and we will dine on real food.”

Tim, who has heard this before sighs. “Do you mean it this time?”

“Of course I mean it this--I mean it every time,” Dick says, affronted. He mentally calculates the free coins he has. More than enough if they keep their plating small. “Today, Tim. I know both you and Damian deserve a proper meal.”

“This isn’t so bad,” Tim says. The porridge spills from his spoon in a pitiful attempt to seem appealing.

“And we’ve gained a full stone since moving here and not lost a bit. And no one looks sallow or tired. No,” Dick rises to his feet, spoon circling in the air as if he were conducting movement on the battlefield. “Phillipa’s for dinner.”

“But the rumors. The lords. Would you rather go out there and face it?”

“Yes, I would rather go out there, Timothy. Out into the world so they know that we will not falter in the face of their false sympathies. We will not bow under the weight of their gossip. And we will not let them tear apart the family that we so desperately strove to enjoy. No.” He whirls around to find Tim staring down at the paper in his hands, face troubled.

“There is less than two weeks before the inquest for Bruce and the decision on the family estate is brought before the magistrate,” Tim whispers in the quiet way he has that always breaks Dick’s heart. He sounds more than concerned; he sounds defeated and directionless.

Dick rests his hand upon Tim’s dark hair and begins stroking the fine strands. “I can do this, Tim. I can solve this puzzle for us and keep the creditors at bay until Bruce comes back.”

Tim whines, curling his head down, and Dick curls around him and drops a kiss atop his crown.

“Say it,” Dick whispers. “Say that your magnificent brother can do this. Say that you believe in me.”

“I believe my magnificent brother can do anything,” Tim says slowly. “But you cannot do this, Dick. You simply cannot.”

Stricken, Dick sank back into his chair, hands clutching at the spoon he’d wielded like a baton moments ago. “Do you truly think I’m incapable, Timmy?”

The words sound frightful, like the pond water after the first frost. The wrong step would make the entire thing shatter into shards of ice and send one hurtling to the frigid depths below.

“It is the way of the world,” Tim explains, “that is up against you, not I. They will not let you,” he sighs heavily before peeking at Dick from beneath his too long hair. “But you have surmounted impossible things in the past. Perhaps this will be another.”

“Good,” Dick says. “Let me show you that the world we know is not the way the world will always be. We will fight this, Tim. And we will win.”

After Tim’s agreement and Damian’s aggressive complaints, Dick begins heating water so they can prepare for their trip to town. While Dick has maintained but a passing familiarity with neatness in his rooms, he has always properly prepared for the public. Scent milking with cedar paddles, hot baths to expel the excess fragrance from his person, a warm rinse followed by a cold bath to seal the fragrance pouches for a time. He is most fastidious in this regimen with good reason.

Dick has a very sensitive nose. Dynamics scenting the air with their feelings can be especially nightmarish and was, until the moment of Lord Wayne’s disappearance, the single source of Dick’s mating woes. He can and has been able to scent a fuming alpha from another building. The smell of even the most pleasant pheromone can be overwhelming. He practices the cleanliness he most wished to see in the world. In vain it seemed. Each year the power of his olfactory scenes increased so that only a handful of dynamic scents are bearable. If not for the special unguent and fur he receives from the Summer Court, he’d be locked in his room morning, noon, and night.

Thinking of this makes Dick pause in straightening Damian’s cravat. “My _mustache_!” Dick clambors back up the stairs and stands before his cracked mirror fussing delicate skin beneath his nose until, a few minutes later, his mustache is in place. He draws in a deep breath. The air is clean and sweet, which should assist him through whatever vexing scents he might encounter at the restaurant.

Thoroughly prepared and money secured, Dick still hesitates at his vanity. He hovers above a stack of sealed letters he has spent considerable time composing throughout the week; letters meant to perhaps lead to a future more fortunate than the bleak one before him. He returns to his brothers downstairs, a small bundle of paper resting within his walking purse.

The walk from Southfield Drury to Gothamshire is pleasant. The road is very well worn and shaded. The land is mostly flat until the final quarter mile into the city, which is a downhill traverse and provides a magnificent view of the bay.

The restaurant Dick has wished to visit is Phillipa’s, an outgrowth of the Bearded Bantam Inn that specialized in tasty, nourishing fare the brothers Wayne have been without for some weeks now. The entrance is cheerily decorated with a painted door and colored glass inserts. Inside, the warm scents of freshly cooked foods fills the air. Damian slips his hand into Dick’s and squeezes, a small gesture that let’s Dick know today’s decision was the right one despite the quiet their appearance draws and then the buzz of conversation soon after.

It has been several long weeks since the Wayne brothers have made an appearance in polite society. Here they stand with their deep green coats and soft red vests buttoned neatly, standing together like birds on a short branch. The muttering is audible to Dick’s keen ears, complaints of the muted tones in the omegas’ silks instead of the bright pastels tradition dictates and the particular fall of lace at Dick’s throat as if these clothes hadn’t been worn by Dick once and subsequently replicated at the very top of the spring season.

The eyes of the common dining hall remain upon them while Dick steps forward to request a table. He sniffs deeply and a calming scent overpowers the curiosity leaking from the dining room.

The staff looks down at his book and then at Dick, a look of apology in his eyes. He leans forward and whispers, “I apologize Mr. Wayne but the account for the Wayne family is closed at this time.”

If it had been a few weeks ago the blow would have been a startling one. Now, Dick merely draws himself to his full stature and glares hard. “One requested a table and a meal. Does your establishment refuse coin in hand?”

“No,” says the staff, looking away. “But you are an um. Well, manners of the account or even payment are made through a family’s head alpha or beta.”

Dick pauses to wrestle with his temper as immediate response to such archaic practices will not be helpful, but his youngest brother has no such compunctions.

“A table for three, sir,” Damian demands rather loudly judging by Tim’s quick glance around the room. “We would not set foot in this establishment if we didn’t have the means.”

“It’s just the rules. You must know there isn’t a person to vouch for you, so a private room isn’t something we can provide. And I cannot. I mean, perhaps if you were dining with a party.” He trails away awkwardly.

“When my father returns,” says Damian only to stop by Dick squeezing his hand and Tim stepping to his side.

“A table in the main dining hall, surely,” Dick says, firmly. The hall opens to the front entrance and there are perhaps six or so empty seats at the long dining table as well as several small tables without patrons. Plenty of seating available so that two unmated omegas and a young boy would not cause a disturbance out alone.

“Mr. Wayne. An omega alone, sir. Please.”

Dick’s eyes flash. “Do you think me insensible? That I will fly into a fit of seduction in the middle of the soup course?”

The scent of alpha has started to swell about them followed by curious alpha and territorial omega. It’s a sharp scent that jerks through Dick’s head like a bit of lightning. It leaves him lightheaded and oh so angry. His eyes water and his nose twitches. Although he keeps his face stern, the waitstaff’s gaze turns pitying, a reaction to his apparent omega weakness no doubt.

“Fine. Perhaps we could purchase something directly from the kitchen. Fresh bread and meats?”

“Please, sir. If you had someone with you. Is there no one that you could ask?”

Dick’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, whose attention was no longer subtly gazing, to his brothers who looked to him with a resigned sadness in their eyes. They knew the truth as surely as Dick did. There is no one to ask; for they have no one in this world except for each other and that is very little at all. Certainly, Dick is proving incapable of doing something as simple as providing them a decent meal. The scents roil over him in a wave, and Dick is subsumed by amusement, satisfaction, embarrassment, hesitation, and desire. The scents are overwhelming and he can’t help but bring a hand to cover his nose in an attempt to breathe in the lilac water and sea beams that should help him through these situations but for some reason, fail in this instance.

And then there’s nothing. The scents dissipate in a swell of fresh, clean blankness, like the soft disappearance of the world in the midst of first snow.

“They are to dine with me tonight,” a voice says, pulling the attention towards the source of rich command.

Dick looks up at the stranger and then up some more, for he is a tall man dressed in a cobalt coat and fawn colored breeches whose fine tailoring does little to distract from the indecent strength of his thighs. The coat is reminiscent of those worn by officers in His Majesty’s Navy. It lacks the padding and epaulets worn by alphas, although the breadth of shoulders is impressive enough without traditional accoutrements. Dick drags his gaze further up to find the scentless wonder before him has a handsome face marred by a thin scar slashing from his lips to temple. It is noticeable but no more so than his intense eyes the color of spearmint leaves or his carelessly mused dark hair. Taken together, he is a handsome man no older than Dick himself.

Distantly, someone says, “And you are?”

“Captain Jason Todd. I apologize for my lateness,” replies the stranger and smoothly turns to the podium. “To leave my dining companions waiting without a word is the height of rudeness. We will take our table please, private of course.”

“Yes sir. Of course sir.” A serving girl appears from the wings. She performs a bobbing curtsey and turns to lead them away.

The captain snaps his heels together smartly and extends his arm. Dick hesitates but only for a moment, then places his hand along the captain’s forearm. It is as firm as a wooden chair leg, but the hand that covers Dick’s is warm and somewhat soft.

“Thank you, captain,” he says, softly.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

They walk past the dining hall into the corridor with its raised wood carvings that depicts the Battle of Star Slayers, where the healer Jor, Scion of House El and future King of the Summer Court, and his twelve companions held the minions of the Jarr’o Darkstar while waiting for the Gotham Knights fulfill their promise of the safe arrival of Fate’s Paladin. It was the beginning of the Fae Alliance. Dick once spent his entire dinner following the lines of the archer’s bodies with his fingers, and he often let his hand graze the polished wood. Today, he can no sooner release the captain’s arm to once more feel the carvings than he would his hope of saving Wayne Manor from the nefarious plot set against him.

The private room has three large windows that open to a floral courtyard alive with the fading remnants of summer's glory. Captain Todd proves his manners are not for show by pulling free the seat at the head of the table and presents it with an almost betan flourish of his free hand.

“Please sit.”

It is a curious thing, the way his eyes must continuously sweep down to confirm that the captain’s broad hand covering Dick’s right hand remaines blanketed by Dick’s left. The casual intimacy of clasping hands is nothing new. Certainly, he has held hands with a friend before. So it does not stand to reason that he feels so.... Strange, content. No exhilarated. He immediately attributes the onslaught of heat to his momentary embarrassment. That and the scentless nature of the captain. Dick nods smartly to himself. This must be the reason he’s already reluctant to let the captain go.

Dick clears his throat. “Timmy. You can sit here.”

Tim’s startled gaze sweeps across the both of them. “Of course. Um. Yes, I will just,” he scurries over and gives the captain a half bow before slipping into the seat, “Thank you, Captain Todd.”

There are three sets of eyes upon Dick, but he is steadily admiring the sprightly flowers on the table. Finally, Captain Todd steps around to the next chair, Dick pressing to his side lamenting the way he utterly cannot release his grasp on the captain’s hand.

“Damian, if you please.”

Damian approaches head tilted back to stare up at him. “Grayson, are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed.”

“I am fine, Damian. Sit.” Dick says a bit louder than necessary.

With Damian seated only two seats remain. The captain reverses his promenade about the table to take Dick to the other seat on the table’s longside.

“Is this seat to your liking?” He says, and the warmth of his voice sounds almost teasing.

“It will do.” Dick uses all of his strength to release his gentle grip on the captain’s hand. He settles into the chair, silks smoothed and lace cuffs primped while the captain seats himself at the table’s end. The distance feels dreadfully far. Unbeknownst to himself, Dick pouts down at the table as his fingers curl around the wooden legs of his chair.

_Kerplunk, kerplunk!_

Three heads snap his direction. Dick fusses with his napkin until he’s sure no one will comment on the sudden and completely unexplainable closeness of his chair to the captain.

“Now, what dishes shall we select for our meal?”

**4\. They say a garden stroll is good for digestion**

Dining with Captain Todd is an unexpected delight.

While starting as a stern faced, albeit attentive, host, the captain began to respond to the conversational cues provided by the Wayne brothers. During the vegetable course, he started his first of a dozen stories related to life at sea in the service of “Jolly Queen Ollie.” Turning his butter knife into the weaving slash of a saber, he captured Damian’s imagination with sword fights off the coast of Delphipola. Tim had been swept away with tales of Atlantis far different from their shared father, who never mentioned the winding bazaars with its endlessly churning walls of water or culatun cocoa served in the great libraries to nourish and refresh the mind. Most importantly, the captain did not lecture them for appearing in society without an escort nor did he make presumptuous comments to either Tim or Dick.

Stomach pleasingly plump from a portion of stew that smells neither odd nor burnt, Dick sets his spoon to the side. “And after all these adventures, you find yourself in Gothamshire?”

“The city is my home and I have been long away from her. Given the opportunity to return and assist a friend with some business, I thought I might settle for a spell.”

“And when you find dear Gotham cannot compare with the excitement of the ship and the call of the sea? Will you seek your commission once more?”

“You appear to know something about this subject,” says Captain Todd.

“I do understand yearning,” Dick admits. “Standing at the top of the cliffs and looking out into the endless bounty of the sea. Wondering what possibilities lie there for those able to brave it; adventure, fortune, freedom, love.” Dick smiles ruefully. “Things the meek dynamic are to do without.”

The table grows quiet, and Dick is the cause. He stifles a sigh at the levity he sucked from the air. Hastily, he supplies another topic hoping to bring back the lightheartedness of their earlier conversation.

“Our Damian is quite fascinated by the sea as well. Isn’t that right, Damian?”

“Mostly. I prefer the study of shipwrights and how they are built.”

“Oh?” Captain Todd quieres. A spark of interest lights his eye recognizable only to Dick; for he has seen that same look leveled towards him a time or two during their conversation.

“There is artistry in their craftsmanship. It can be inspiring.” Damian says.

“He is a splendid artist,” Tim says. “The details he manages are astounding considering he mainly sees the trading ships as they pass.”

“I’ve been on father’s ship more than a few times too.”

Tim gestures calmingly. “Yes, that as well.”

Captain Todd sets down his cup. “Your father is a merchant then?”

“Our father is,” Dick pauses, “Or rather was.” The words die on his tongue, yet Damian’s strident voice rushes in.

“Our father is, Grayson. Missing or disappeared, I care not how you put it, but father is still alive, and I will not have you speak differently.”

“I see,” says the captain. He sits back in his seat, a grave expression on his face. His keen eyes inspect each brother lingering on the youngest for a moment before returning to meet Dick’s gaze. “You are the sons of Admiral Wayne.”

“Yes,” Dick says, softly. “How impolite of me. Richard Grayson, Timothy Drake, and Damian Al Ghul though we have taken the Wayne surname. All his sons.” All together and still very much alone in the world.

“Word of his disappearance has only been made known to the navy recently,” says the captain, “It is very disheartening, very strange. I had made plans to visit his estate and offer my support in the coming days.”

The brothers exchange a look. There have been very few visiting friends who did not come with the singular motive to impress Dick into their family with the aims of handling the Wayne fortune. Those most loyal and true to Wayne have been made conspicuously absent by circumstance. It had perplexed Dick early on, waiting for someone to step forward and help them. Then word began to trickle in through the Foxes. Bruce’s contacts within the navy were split between searching for his ship and completing his ambassadorial mission to Atlantis; their contacts in the Sentinels of the Green Lantern away securing the Northern border. Lord Kent, lost son of the Summer Court and heir to the golden fields of Petite Ville, has been bound by law from interfering. Even letters to the Queen have failed to reach him. Alone they might be a coincidence, together is a distressing situation Dick has yet to detangle and time is running out.

“To echo your sentiment, it has been very disheartening and very strange times. We appreciate your support, Captain Todd. There is precious little right now, if I’m honest, and you managed to bring a smile to my brothers, which has been sorely missed. I thank you for that.” Another thing Dick has failed to manage this day. He feels angered again, ashamed, helpless, and the softest touch to his fingers. He looks to find his fingers caught by the captain.

“I’ve been lost before,” begins the captain in a voice made rough with remembrance, “stranded in the midst of a cruel, careless sea. I tell you this to let you know that there is room for hope amidst the sorrow of life.”

“When the day is at its darkest and the heart feels most forlorn, look to the horizon for hope will surely dawn.” Tim recites the words hesitantly.

“You know ‘Nubia’s Lament on the Eve of Alkyone’s Betrayal’?” Captain Todd asks, though his eyes do not leave Dick’s.

“Of course we do,” says Damian. He clutches tightly at his shirt. “And we do not need to look for sentiment! I know my father is well and he will come home.”

“Damian, please,” Dick whispers, and his littlest brother kicks beneath the table, but falls back with an angry twist of his lips. The captain squeezes his fingers gently before releasing him. Forward but not too much so. And he swooped in to afford them some care and dignity in such a terrible situation. Dick cannot help but wonder if perhaps the situation would be better were Captain Todd an alpha of some standing. The improper thought sends heat to Dick’s cheeks that turns scalding once his eyes meet the captains and he must look away again. Kind, gentle, handsome, and not someone who could solve the problem laid before not only Dick, but his small family.

Clarity washes over Dick, and he understands what must be done. The time of childish desires must be put to an end. He has Tim and Damian to consider. Their futures are equally as important. No, more so.

Dick shoves his seat back across the ground and rises, head held high. “Captain Todd, the Wayne family will not forget neither your generosity nor your kindness this day. Now, we must go to our solicitors. My decision has been made.”

The captain stands and tosses napkin to plate with the force of a man advancing a duel.

“I will take you, if you allow me the honor, Mr. Grayson.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I insist.”

“It is a bit of a walk,” Dick tries, aware of the stares bobbing between himself and the captain.

“Company will make it a pleasant one,” Captain Todd replies. “After all, they say a garden stroll is good for digestion.”

In the end, Dick acquiesces, and the party of four left the restaurant under a reinvigorated air of gossip that bothers Dick very little. As the captain had been kind enough to decline Dick’s offer to settle their account, Dick carefully slides a few coins into Tim’s pocket and bids him to pick up a few things for the home as they had discussed this morning. It is, of course, pure subterfuge, but Tim takes up the plan quite easily and promises to meet at the solicitor’s office shortly.

It has been quite some time since Dick found himself promenading through the high streets with a handsome fellow on his arm. He can’t help but admire their reflection in the glass as they pass.

Soon, they reach the square along Park Row, which overlooks a small modest garden walk, and Dick allows himself to be guided into the treeline paths and carefully manicured lawns where families and young lovers picnic under the afternoon sun. They walk slowly and their conversation is somehow easier than before, although Dick is not sure why. He doesn’t dwell on it however; for good conversation is hard to come by.

A man never without courage, Dick finally finds the time and fortitude to ask the question that has been most pressing to him since meeting the captain. “Did you find it terribly difficult to find your place in the world? What am I saying. Of course it would have been difficult, that a man such as you with this great stature should be a beta with quite an unassuming scent.”

Dick pauses as it appears Captain Todd had stumbled over a stone on the path. “I beg your pardon,” he says with a voice that sounds half winded and half incensed, and Dick realises he has been unreasonably rude.

Dick raises his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. The gesture allows him to see the captain more clearly. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide with utter horror. Or perhaps amusement. “And you receive it and more, Captain Todd. I do apologise for saying such things. Understand that I too chafe at the bonds of societal convention. Who are these old alphas to say what it is that I can and cannot achieve with the strength of my own two hands or where I can go on the power of my own two feet? Clearly, you have achieved much and under considerable merit if your stories today are to be believed.” Dick smiles, adjusting his grip on the captain’s arm and steering them forward again. “And I do believe them, sir. You appear to be leading a very interesting life.”

“It does appear to become more interesting by the hour, Mr. Grayson. I must ask how else you might enrich my life if we continue as we are?” Captain Todd asks, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, and Dick finds he almost places his foot down wrong as they step onto the paved walkway from how easily his captain can go from stern to charming. It is quite a dangerous talent.

“I am afraid that is a question we will need to address another time." Dick nods towards the gilded sign hanging above their heads. “We’ve arrived at my solicitor’s establishment.”

Without turning his gaze away from Dick's, the captain softly says, "I am afraid you are right." There's a calmness about him that Dick finds familiar and comforting, like certainty found in the fixed point of a star that shines brightly in the heavens.

Curiously, this time, neither Dick nor Captain Todd appear willing to let the other go.


End file.
